


Crime Scene

by thinkingstar



Category: Watchmen - All Media Types
Genre: Breaking and Entering, Gen, Post-Keene, Quitting, danror if you squint
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-04
Updated: 2015-07-04
Packaged: 2018-04-07 13:35:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 759
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4265106
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thinkingstar/pseuds/thinkingstar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rorschach falls into new patterns with Daniel at his side. Patterns that still follow the old ones. Because he comes back. Aka Rorschach explores Daniel's house post-Keene and can't quite figure out why he's so obsessed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Crime Scene

Daniel’s house was as familiar as Rorschach’s own apartment once had been. Rorschach roamed the halls as the rich man slept, memorized details and learned every inch. It was often after boring nights, dull nights, when he might have let Daniel talk him into coffee before, when he hadn’t seen the world for what it truly was. That pattern was set for when to visit.

At first he had never left the hanger, looking at a dust-covered Archie and a dust-covered costume. Never touching, never cleaning, just staring and walking in patterns that obscured his footprints in the dust and oil on the floor.

He had begun a different exploration after a singularly dull night. Up the stairs, beside the door. Listening to Daniel watching TV, cooking, drinking, eating like the glutton he had become. Footsteps going up to the bedroom and the tiny creak of the door. Silence.

Two nights of that, over three months of patrols. And then the door moved beneath his hand. Didn’t open, just moved. But it would enough to reveal that Daniel no longer locked the door or that the lock had rusted through. It was dangerous. A safety hazard. He had to keep Daniel informed.

The door was open, left ajar. Rorschash didn’t enter. But he watched the shadows of the living room until every detail was etched in his mind. It was like a crime scene without the crime and he could picture Daniel everywhere: sitting on the couch, fiddling with the TV, plucking a book, adjusting an owl statue.

Another month, another visit and the door was still unlocked. Daniel had gone to bed early and Rorschach hadn’t thought on the reasons when he walked through the door and into the living room. The kitchen was shadowed, still smelling of Chinese leftovers and burnt coffee. Inside the fridge were piles of containers old and new, leftovers and fresh foods of varying ages, none touched since they had been tucked haphazardly inside.

He ate the french fries in a burger container and walked back out without bothering to hide his dusty footprints or the oily glove stains on the fridge door. The door to the basement stayed open as well, a whistling breeze following him out.

Rorschach had seen Daniel the next two times he’d gone there. The lock was never fixed, but his partner seemed more aware that he was letting himself in. Awkward conversations ensued and silence often followed. But there was always food.

Two months, three months, four months and the next quiet night fell on him in the middle of a serial killer’s spree. One quiet night, no deaths, no screams, but his ears were still ringing. The basement, the undisturbed dust and a locked door greeted him. One rough twist broke the knob and the empty house greeted him. Daniel was at Hollis’, Rorschach learned from a calender with light from the fridge as he shoveled cold rice into his mouth by the handful.

The second floor was plainer then the first, emptier, two bedroom that only served one person. Rorschach could feel Daniel around him. There was a different kind of warmth as he examined each room. Bedspread, carpets, knick-knacks. Everything was memorized and filed away. This was important, though he couldn’t seem to think of why.

And there he had found what he had been looking for the whole time, looking for without looking or thinking. Daniel’s room. A framed article. Their bust, their pictures, behind glass. His face, Daniel’s mask. Side by side and Rorschach had crossed the room without a thought. His fingers traced black blobs floating through his vision onto the glass and he knew why this was a crime scene as he stare at Nite Owl through his own reflection.

When Daniel returned the night, the front door had been kicked out. A frantic search revealed nothing else broken. Food was missing, several bottles of coke and a leatherbound notebook he’d been saving for no real reason. He didn’t bother reporting it to the police when he found the coke bottles in his garbage can alongside two of his take-out containers.

By the time he got to bed, he wasn’t thinking. He didn’t think for the next few days as he hired contractors and bought more coke with a grumble. Replacing the notebook was pointless. He never wrote in those anyway.

Which was why it took him so long to notice the light square on his wall. And why he barely remembered what had been there in the first place


End file.
